The Voyage of Heroes: Book Two of the Osteria Chronicles: The Osteria Chronicles, #2

By Tammie Painter

When a scheming uncle partners with the god of war, the freedom of a peaceful land and the lives of its leaders hang in the balance. In this dangerous game between gods and mortals, trust may prove to be the deadliest weapon.

 

Believing a well-guarded treasure will prove he is rightful leader, Jason, Prince of Illamos Valley, sets out on a perilous quest to obtain it. As his voyage takes him across treacherous waters and into an aggressively fortified kingdom, Jason finds himself combatting the ire of gods and monsters, struggling to control a rebellious crew, and battling against doubts of his own worthiness to be king of the land he is fighting to save.

 

But even if he gains the treasure, can Jason recapture the trust of his people, secure his throne, and survive the betrayal of the one person he never expected to turn against him?

 

Vividly set in a captivating world, The Voyage of Heroes blends history, mythology, and fantasy into a page-turning adventure of fidelity, treachery, corruption and duty.

 

If you like fast-paced adventure, perilous romance, heroes battling monsters within and without, and gods behaving badly you'll love this second installment of The Osteria Chronicles, a highly-recommended series that brings the myths of Ancient Greece to life as you've never seen them before.

 

Continue your Osterian adventure by picking up a copy of The Voyage of Heroes today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tammie Painter
• Release date: Jun 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781386270225

Tammie Painter

Short Version:  I turn wickedly strong tea into historical fantasy fiction in which the gods, heroes, and myths of Ancient Greece come to life as you've never seen them before. When I'm not creating worlds or killing off characters, I wrangle honeybees to add a little adventure into my non-writing life.  Long Version:  Tammie Painter grew up in the creative world of Portland, Oregon, and she continues to call the City of Roses home. Although she spent years working as a chemist in a behavioral neuroscience research lab, she could never quite tame her passion for writing. Tammie has a knack for delving into and bringing life to history and mythology in her novels. Her fascination for myths, history, and how they interweave inspired the Osteria Chronicles series.  The current titles in the six-book series include *The Trials of Hercules *The Voyage *The Maze *The Bonds of Osteria (coming soon) When she isn't (but probably should be) writing, Tammie can be found digging in her garden, planning her next travel adventure, creating art, or persuading her hive of backyard bees to share some of their honey with her. Find out more about Tammie on her website at TammiePainter.com

Book preview

The Voyage of Heroes

Book Two of the Osteria Chronicles

* * *

by

TAMMIE PAINTER

The Voyage of Heroes Cast of Characters

The Gods

Aphrodite: Goddess of love and beauty, wife of Hephaestus; patron god of Vancuse

Ares: God of war, son of Hera and Zeus, patron god of Aryana

Artemis: Goddess of wild places and animals, patron god of Cedonia

Athena: Goddess of justice and battle, patron god of Athenos

Demeter: Goddess of grain and harvest, patron god of Demos

Dionysus: God of wine, patron god of Illamos Valley

Hades: God of the dead, oversees the Chasm

Hephaestus: God of volcanoes and metal working, husband to Aphrodite, patron god of Helena

Hera: Goddess of marriage and family, wife and sister to Zeus, patron god of Portaceae

Hermes: Messenger to the gods, patron god of Tillaceae

Poseidon: God of the seas, brother to Zeus and Hera, father of Pelias, patron god of Astoria

Zeus: The god of the gods, husband and brother of Hera, father of many bastard children

* * *

Titans

Atlas: Brother to Prometheus, bearer of the skies, father of the nymphs who guard Hera’s garden

Prometheus: Friend to mortals, titan who gave mortals fire in their darkest times

Typhon: Son of Hera, father of the hydra, Nemean lion and the Chimera

* * *

The Poli

Portaceae

Iolalus: Current Solon of Portaceae, cousin to Hercules

Maxinia: Head of the Herenes (priestesses of Hera)

Orpheus: Musician striving to be an engineer

Illamos Valley

Admes: Servant in the Palace of Salemnos

Aeson: Husband of Polymele, King of Illamos Valley, father of Jason

Jason: Prince of Illamos Valley, son of Aeson and Polymele, cousin to Odysseus

Odysseus: Son of Anticlea (sister of Polymele), commander of Illamosian vigiles, husband of Penelope

Polymele: Queen of Illamos Valley, granddaughter of Hermes, mother of Jason, aunt of Odysseus

Aryana

Pelias: Bastard son of Poseidon and Tyro, half-brother to Aeson, commander of Arean vigiles, member of the Osteria Council

Demos

Paris: Son of Priam

Priam: President of Demos, elected after the coup that drove Athamas’s line from power, member of the Osteria Council

Vancuse

Castor: Son of Leda and Tyndareus, twin brother to Pollux, brother to Helen and Clytemnestra

Clytemnestra: Sister to Helen, Pollux and Castor; wife of Agamemnon

Helen: Betrothed to Jason, sister to Clytemnestra, Pollux and Castor

Pollux: Bastard son of Zeus and Leda, twin brother to Castor, brother to Helen and Clytemnestra

* * *

The Kingdom of Colchis

Aby: Prince of Colchis, son of Aeetes, brother of Medea

Aeetes: King of Colchis, nephew to Nephele

Chalciope: Elder daughter of Aeetes, mother to Phrixus (younger), half-sister to Medea and Aby

Medea: Younger daughter of Aeetes, niece to the sorceress Circe

Phrixus (younger): Son of Phrixus (elder) and Chalciope, husband of Glauce

* * *

The Tale of the Pelt

Athamas: King of Demos

Helle: Daughter of Nephele and Athamas

Ino: Current queen of Demos, wife to Athamas

Learches & Melicertes: Twin sons of Ino and Athamas, toddlers

Nephele: Former queen of Demos, ex-wife of Athamas, water nymph

Phrixus (elder): Son of Nephele and Athamas

* * *

The Argoa

Perseus: Captain of the Argoa, born in the Astoria polis, raised in the Docklands, bastard son of Zeus

Other Crew: Agamemnon, Bellerophon, Hylas, Menelaus, Theseus

Others

Acrisius: Member of the Osteria Council, grandfather of Perseus

Charon: Skeletal creature who rows people along the River Styx and into Hades’s Chasm

Chiron: Centaur, serves as teacher and mentor to high-born children

Circe: Sorceress, aunt of Medea

Hercules: Bastard son of Zeus,

Io: Lover of Zeus, mortal

Iole: Daughter of Hera, former Herene

Lena: Member of the Osteria Council

Orseis: Lover of Poseidon, nymph

Pasiphae: Member of the Osteria Council

The Osteria Chronicles

Hundreds of years ago, North America experienced The Disaster. In what was once the Northwest, the survivors built a new world, Osteria, which was then divided into twelve city-states.

To this world came the gods formerly worshipped by the Ancient Greeks. The gods have not changed—they are still powerful, petty, and consumed with rivalries and jealousy.

And as before, the gods do not play fairly with those they despise.

BOOK TWO: THE VOYAGE OF HEROES

CHAPTER ONE

Pelias

INVADE ILLAMOS VALLEY.

This was the command Ares issued me only a couple months ago.

I promise, it will be easy, he had said, his dark eyes shining with anticipation.

May I ask why? The idea of invading a polis did not bother me, but my heart gave a slight tug at the thought of fighting my way into the city-state where my brother ruled as king and Polymele as queen. If Ares ordered me to, I would kill Aeson, but I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. As soon as this thought entered my head, I cursed myself for such an un-Arean attitude.

Ares stared at me. The moment I asked the question, I knew I shouldn’t have. Who dares question a god? Still, he must have been full of a wonderful plan because his face showed no hint of annoyance at my faux pas, only amusement.

If you succeed, then I will tell you.

With that, I was left to strategize. Since I didn’t want them interfering, my first step was to inform the Osteria Council, tell them some lie to make any invasion seem diplomatic. It wouldn’t take much convincing, I only had to start off with the promise that each member would receive delivery of a barrel of the best vintage Illamos Valley had to offer. The value of the bribe would be greater than the annual wages of an Arean civilian, but keeping the Council out of my way would be worth every drachar.

Even with this bribe, arguments were raised. But aren’t there always arguments when politicians cram themselves into a room?

Why have you called us here, Pelias? asked Acrisius. The old man had been dressed in a gold-trimmed toga, wore emeralds on his sandals and tiny diamonds on his fingernails. Expense meant nothing to him or to most members of the Osteria Council who looked like a parade of human peacocks with all their finery as they filed into the Council Hall’s meeting room. You know it’s a great expense to travel here when Council isn’t in session.

My apologies, I know you have tight schedules. And even tighter purse strings. But Illamos Valley has grown weak. My brother Aeson and his wife have been partaking too much in the gifts of Dionysus. We know the polis not only provides us the best wine in Osteria, but it’s also a vital region for produce. We can’t let Illamos Valley fall under bad management. I would like to have permission as a member of the Council to oversee the Valley until my brother and sister-in-law can recover.

Is this some Arean ploy to take over the polis? We all know the Areans long for more power, Cassiopeia said with a snip to her voice. With high cheekbones and flawless skin, she retains the glamour of her youth, but the sag at her neck waving like a flag heralds her age better than any news crier. We are the Council, after all. If you want control of Illamos Valley, say it and get to the point. She was always the most astute of the Council, seeing through bluffs and more than willing to call a member out on them.

If I wanted to take over Osteria, I would invade Demos. After all, we know whoever controls the grain controls Osteria. I believe it best for Osteria if Aeson is put aside for the time being. I said the words smoothly, but as I strode around the chamber, my leg had given one of its betraying hitches. The old wound rarely troubled me. After all, my muscles have been strengthened and my gait has been honed by decades of service to the Arean vigiles. But on occasion, the injury acts up and the glitch in my stride makes me move as awkwardly as I did my first day of vigile training.

It’s your own brother, Priam had complained, his face still pale from my jest of invading Demos, the polis he presides over.

At Priam’s accusatory tone, at the thought of the look on my brother’s face when I seized Illamos Valley and took the Staff of Dionysus from him, my leg rattled out a spasm that staggered me.

Aeson saved you, and now you plan to betray him.

It will make it all that much easier, then, won’t it? I slid smoothly into a seat, playing off the falter. He’ll welcome me with open arms. After all, I want to help. I’m no barbarian. I don’t intend to kill him.

I don’t know if I could.

I shook the idea out of my head, hating my mind for its weakness and sentimentality. Thank the gods that, although they see our actions, they cannot read our minds. How disappointed Ares would be if he could.

Fine, do as you must, Acrisius had said. I stood ready to offer my thanks for what I would have done, with or without their approval. It was their approval though, and their staying out of my way that would make the invasion all that much easier.

Just as I was about to make my farewells, Cassiopeia added, But you will take Priam here as your secretary. He will report what goes on and ensure that delivery you promised reaches each of us. I know you Areans can be a bit forgetful when it comes to paying dues.

Although I could feel the tension in my lips, I forced a sneer back as I smiled and nodded my assent. I will send him word when I am ready. There are preparations to make.

Upon my return to Aryana, to the vigiles over which I commanded, I implemented the second stage of my plan: Invade Portaceae. Not its capital and not a full scale invasion. Instead, a century of vigiles would harass Portaceae’s outer districts to create a distraction from my true plans.

For this engagement I sent only the lowest ranks of Arean vigiles, fighters better suited to guarding Aryana’s immense population of sheep than to mounting an attack on a polis. Still, even a low-ranking Arean vigile is no match for civilians. I also knew with Portaceae’s strained finances, the polis couldn’t afford to maintain a proper line of defense and its vigiles had been spread thinly throughout the districts. I made certain the strongest forces, the vigiles with the highest level of the vicious Arean training, remained behind with me to be ready for the true campaign I was impatient to launch.

As things will when you’re eagerly waiting for action, waiting to please your god, waiting for your ruse to catch someone’s attention, the time had drawn on for an age. The troops went in, ravaged two districts within the Portaceae polis and still the Solon, Eury Stephanos, failed to act, failed to call in vigiles from other poli to aid Portaceae. Finally, weeks after the initial assault, something changed. A new Solon with more gumption than the last realized the need to defend the districts. Before the new Solon, Iolalus, even had the chance to take his vow to serve Portaceae, vigiles had been called up from the other poli to come to Portaceae’s aid.

And of course Aeson didn’t hesitate to send his best forces to defend his neighbor to the north. Answering the first call for help, he sent his own elite band of vigiles that included his son, Jason.

With its best trained vigiles out of the way, Illamos Valley was ripe for invasion.

* * *

I call up my forces and send word for Priam to be ready to ride south with us. I hope the meek man will make excuses not to go, that he will offer to join us later and never show up. But on the day and at the hour I had said my troops and I will be passing through his borders, he waits with his son, Paris, mounted beside him. One look at the Astorian racing steeds they ride – horses renowned for their speed and stamina – destroys any hope I have of leaving Paris and Priam choking on the dust stirred up by my forces.

I detest having Priam along, not only because of the moral high ground the Demosian seems to perch himself on, but also because everywhere Priam goes, Paris goes as well. I roll my eyes every time they ride up alongside me on the way south to Illamos Valley. It does not give the appearance of a virile Arean on campaign, but of a man traveling with his elderly father and brother as if we are heading to a family gathering.

I stop myself. Who am I kidding? With my blonde hair greying at the temples and the hawk-feet wrinkles branching out from my eyes, no one would ever mistake me for Paris’s brother. No, as much as I long for my youth, as much as I yearn to not wake with aches in my joints and to have more time to enjoy my inevitable rule over all of Osteria, time rides a faster steed than I do. Regardless of how distasteful accepting the part is to me, I suppose it is the role of Paris’s father that I would be cast in.

Still, I know the retinue behind us does not look familial even though I have instructed my vigiles to swap out their dress armor – breastplates embellished with the crossed arrows of Aryana – and wear the plain breastplates of battle. This way we would appear to be nothing more than another of the bands of troops marching off to help Portaceae. To stay as inconspicuous as possible, once we leave Demos, we skirt the fringes of Cedonia until we reach Eugenia, the southernmost district of Illamos Valley. Thankfully, Illamos Valley proves the old Arean adage that wealth often makes a polis lax in their defenses and we are able to ride straight through the unguarded border.

At the edge of Salemnos, the ruling city of Illamos Valley, I order the vigiles to fan out so their numbers won’t swarm the city and create a panic.

Pick spots around the agora and the palace. Stay in groups of three. If there’s trouble, you have the right to subdue the people with force.

Pelias! Priam scolds. My face fumes over his insolence, magnifying the unseasonable heat that has sweat trickling down my legs. A commander of the Arean vigiles on campaign is never questioned. By anyone. My rule is as complete as a king’s. But I have no time for trouble from Priam; I want the invasion done with and done smoothly so I can learn of Ares’s plan that I have waited so long to hear. I quickly turn up my lips into a reassuring smile.

Don’t worry, old man. If I know my brother, he’ll fling open the doors and hand me the Staff of Dionysus. Then he’ll pour me a glass of wine while asking if he can do anything else for my comfort. There’ll be no fight from him. You’ll see.

And Polymele? Priam prods.

Polymele, Queen of Illamos Valley. My heart clenches at the thought of seeing her. I may be here on Ares’s orders, but I can’t say that when he gave me those orders a certain longing, a certain excitement over the prospect of being near her once again didn’t consume me.

There’ll be no fight, I repeat gruffly.

And indeed there isn’t. My vigile generals having led the way, Priam, Paris and I enter into the city without opposition. Certainly people stare at us with scorn, fear and confusion, but none fight. They are like sheep waiting to find out where the herding dog wants them to go next. Never in Aryana would this happen. Even the civilians of Aryana are born to fight. Areans take pride in defending their polis. We would have stopped anyone who didn’t have express permission to be in Aryana before they were within five miles of our borders.

We ride to the heart of the city and pass through the agora that opens onto a long rectangular mall surrounded with gnarled grapevines that are rumored to be three centuries old, having been planted by the founder of the Illamos Valley polis and blessed by Dionysus himself. The autumn moon has only recently turned her first face and the vines hang heavy with grapes – some red, some green and others as black as night. The air is filled with the fruits’ sweet scent. It is a stark contrast to the stench of sheep dung and slaughterhouse blood that hovers over Arean agoras.

In the center of the agora amidst the vendors’ stalls stands a temple, small in comparison to those dedicated to the other gods in Osteria and miniscule to that of Hera’s, Portaceae’s prideful goddess. With vineyards and wineries dotting any land that isn’t being used for fruit, vegetable, and nut crops, Dionysus needs little in the way of formal temples; the entire Valley is a monument to him. Opposite the temple perches a rostrum that rises at least a man’s height above the ground and is decorated with painted scenes of the grape harvest. From the frequent letters Aeson sends me I know the king and queen make speeches to their people from here as well as use the elevated platform for a seating area during official events when their thrones are brought out and a golden carpet stretches from the palace to the agora for them to walk on.

Even in the hazy heat, the marble palace of Salemnos gleams at the far end of the mall and grows brighter as I approach, forcing me to squint to block out its brilliance. The palace’s two-storied walls are decorated in carved reliefs of grapevines heavy with ripe clusters and amphorae spilling over with wine that is being collected in cups held by mortals and gods alike. The downspouts have also been fashioned to look like tilting jugs from which spews gallons of rain water into pools below whenever a storm settles over the Valley.

Being used to the plain square buildings and unadorned public areas of Aryana that are seen as places of function, not surfaces to be embellished, Salemnos gives me a headache with all its decorations. The only functional enhancement I know of here is the work engineers put in a decade ago to shore up the palace to protect it from the earthquakes that have become so common in Osteria.

They waste their time and effort on art when they should be training a stronger force of vigiles. That will quickly change under my rule.

I march up to the palace with Priam scurrying to stay by my side – Paris having last been seen leaning against the rostrum with three young women giggling at his flirtations. A short distance behind us, an impressive yet non-threatening number of six vigiles follow in rear-guard formation. At the palace’s entrance an Illamosian vigile wearing a grape-embossed breastplate blocks me from approaching the bronze doors that stand so tall a giant could pass through them without hitting his head.

I’m only here to see my brother, I say amiably.

Although Aeson is my half-brother through our mother Tyro, she insisted he be kept ignorant of our blood relation. Despite her efforts to keep me, her unwanted bastard, away from her true-born son, Aeson and I grew up side by side and he has always referred to me as his brother. The annoyance on Tyro’s face whenever she heard him call me this was my secret source of rare pleasure in my youth. Aeson even informed me once that his son, Jason, knows me as Uncle, and wouldn’t that just piss Tyro off if she were still alive?

Your men must stay outside. Your weapons must remain with me.

Of course. I don my most understanding smile as I unsheathe the sword at my waist. I start to hand it over then fumble with the hilt Dear me, this heat makes my hands so sweaty. Oh, and I cut you. Damn my clumsy hands. I point to a small cut on the man’s calf where the blade has nicked him.

Just a scratch, the guard mutters as he bends to pick up the weapon. His hand clasps on the hilt, but then falls slack as he drops into a heap. Eury Stephanos of Portaceae may have been an idiot, but his hydra blood was well worth every drachar I paid for it. Even dry it kills in an instant. My own guards quickly shuffle the body into a position that makes it look as if the man has fallen asleep leaning against the balustrade.

I roll my eyes at Priam’s startled expression. Although I do note that the widening of his grey eyes does at least smooth out a few of the old man’s wrinkles. I must remember that trick to iron out my own creases.

I knock on the doors, and they boom under my knuckles. An elderly man with a stance as proud as any vigile answers. His bright green eyes flick from my face to the slumped guard. He was like that when we got here, I say, then brush past the servant, adding, Sleeping on duty. He should really be reported.

I step into the cool marble interior of Aeson’s palace. The circular foyer is flanked on the right and the left by wide stairs that lead to the second story. Above my head, the foyer opens to the curving span of a dome. While Priam remains gawking at the sight, I pass through the foyer, following the sounds of conversation to find my brother in the central atrium of the palace. Within the atrium, beside a small indoor pool, Aeson sits in a plush chair nibbling from a platter of cheese set on an ornate, mosaic-tiled table and sipping wine with Polymele who laughs at whatever he has just said. I stop my advance momentarily at the sight of her long, sleek black hair and heart-shaped face. The sound of her youthful, mocking laughter at my many proposals echoes through my mind. The smile drops from her lips the moment she catches sight of me.

Pelias. Aeson stands and brushes crumbs from his hands. What news, brother? He strides over – waddles over is more like it. Gods, he has grown soft. But his face beams and his arms open, ready to greet me. I flinch. I have forever wondered if Aeson has any inkling I slew our mother. From the broad welcoming smile on his face, I would have to guess not.

Although I am glad to see him, I remain stern, rigid. I step back from my brother’s embrace, fixing him with a look of utter gravity. I work my face into a mix of severity and apology as if I hate the words I must bear.

The news is that you are under threat as leader of Illamos Valley and must be taken under my protection.

My leg cramps, but as long as I make no move to step forward, no one will notice unless they look closely enough to see the twitching spasm in my calf muscle.

You’ve never been good at delivering jokes, Aeson says brightly. Now, sit, have a cup of wine and tell me of Portaceae.

This is no joke. Your son is plotting a coup to overthrow you. I dare say he intends to kill you and Polymele so he can seize power. My eyes dart from my brother to Polymele who stares at me, her face painted with contemptuous judgment. I should kill them both. It would take seconds. A small nick just like the guard and it would be done. But no, I cannot. Not him and definitely not her.

Cries from outside stir me from my thoughts. With a final sputter, the spasm in my leg calms. I march over and slide shut the door to the atrium, indicating to Priam to deal with the servant who surely has discovered the guard is, in fact, not sleeping. I then turn back to Aeson and my sister-in-law. Jason has convinced an army of vigiles that you plan to rob him of his birthright, that you intend to make another your heir. Have you done anything to give him this idea?

I, well, Aeson stammers and glances guiltily to Polymele. That is, we both have encouraged him. He’s such an indecisive boy, you see, always looking to others for an opinion. We told him he should use his cousin, Odysseus, as his role model. I’ve wrote to you of him; he’s quite good at his job. We encouraged Jason to bring Odysseus back with him from Portaceae to serve here. I didn’t think I needed to spell out that it was only as an advisor.

I thank Ares for Aeson’s lack of clarity. It allows my lie fall right into place.

Odysseus was born as a bastard to Polymele’s younger sister Anticlea and an arborist named Laertes. Although he never wed her, Laertes did desert his squalid home to move into Anticlea’s villa that perched over one of the most productive vineyards in Osteria. Had Laertes been a loyal and faithful man, Odysseus’s bastard birth may have been overlooked as common law marriage took effect once the couple had been together for six years. But when Anticlea fell ill and Laertes abandoned her, Odysseus’s status was dragged into the sludge that drains from the public toilets. To no fault of his own, Odysseus, who should have been second-in-line to the Illamosian throne, had toppled far out of the Valley’s line of succession. Soon after Anticlea’s illness claimed her life, Polymele and Aeson took in their nephew. Ever kind-hearted, Aeson elevated Odysseus to commander of the Illamosian vigiles, a position that should have automatically gone to Jason. Had Jason been a more ambitious man, he would have opposed the decision the moment it was made.

I gaze thoughtfully at my brother. I indicate him to sit as I pull up a straight-backed wooden chair and take a seat across from him. I’m afraid the prince has taken that to mean you want Odysseus as more than a mentor.

I know Aeson. The foolish and trusting man has always looked up to me, even though I am younger than him. He will be easily convinced, but Polymele might be shrewd enough to see any hole in my story. I glance at her, scanning her blank expression for any sign of doubt.

Jason isn’t capable of treachery, she says. True, from what I hear, the boy couldn’t find his way out of an open wine cask. He’s not stupid, but he’s inherited his father’s willingness to trust and has never been encouraged to think for himself or to be clever. Still, best to let Polymele think she has been mistaken about her only son.

We all know mothers can be blind to their children’s faults, I say sagely. He may not have come up with the idea himself. He has a band of vigiles who have bound themselves to him. Who knows? It could have been one of them who gave him the idea. And if you don’t believe your son capable of treachery, he has included Odysseus among that band. No doubt using his role model as long as he needs him and then doing away with him as soon as he secures his seat on the throne.

Neither parent makes any argument for or against their son. I let the air hang heavy with this news, allowing it to seep in for a few moments before I continue.

Now, I have been sent to be your protector. I have the Osteria Council behind me. This palace has cells on the lower level in the opposite wing of the servants’ quarters, does it not? Aeson nods, his face knotted with worry. I pat his fidgeting hand. I advise you to take to those cells. We can have your things sent down so it will be no different than your usual chambers. It will be the safest place for you until this matter is settled. I advise you to hurry. These boys are bolstered by an easy win in Portaceae; they will be eager for more blood.

No, we should talk to Jason, Aeson says.

I fear these men he is with will not pause to listen to your words. I assure you the cells will be the safest place. I will place my own guards outside them. And, I know this may be difficult, but I suggest you not occupy the same cell. It’s too risky for the future of Illamos Valley to place you together where you could both be killed in one blow. Polymele, I think my brother will agree that you, as the rightful holder of the Valley’s throne, should be in the deepest cells. The more space and the more guards Jason and his band must get through, the better able we will be to protect you.

My words are spoken with such sincerity, such haste and doom, that Polymele’s face has gone as pale as the cheese on her platter.

Until when? Polymele asks.

Until you give yourself to me.

I know the thought is foolish. It is the thought of my younger self, the one who hoped she would be mine. But I am not so old that I no longer dream. And if she weds me, Illamos Valley will by all rights be mine. With a single vow I could have both Illamos Valley and Polymele. I will not lose my chance with her again.

Until I can subdue Jason and get him to hear reason. I promise, I will do my best to see he comes to no harm. He may just need speaking to and the Council has granted me that responsibility. You may gather a few items for your comfort, but please don’t tarry. Reports say Jason is approaching the city as we speak.

Two guards escort the king and queen to their bedchamber. I busy myself as they and the guards, who return laden with clothes, musical instruments, books and various other frivolities, descend to the underground level of the palace. Once I hear the locks secured, I call on Ares, eager to tell him the mission he has assigned me is complete and that I am ready to learn why I have just placed two members of Osterian royalty in their own prison. As I pass through the foyer to the stairs that will lead me to my brother’s office, the frail Priam attempts to assist the elderly servant with the bulky body of the guard. Perhaps the heat, Priam mutters when the servant ponders over what could have taken the life of such a healthy young man.

Once I’m behind the double doors of the rounded office, Ares appears in a flash of red. Everything about him speaks of a virile warrior – the helmet and breastplate that, although as perfect as anything of the gods, have enough nicks and dents to show they have survived many battles, the firm set of his shoulders, the strong line of his jaw, and the hawk-like intensity in his dark eyes. He is what every Arean strives to be.

Illamos Valley has been taken, I say with a bow.

You went in blindly on my orders alone, Ares says, and I cannot tell if the tone in his voice is admiration or admonition.

You know I trust you. You are the only god I respect. Only you saw my worth when others thought I had none.

Ares strolls around the room with its walls lined with paintings, its shelves crammed with books and knickknacks, and its wood molding carved into stylized grape vines. His gaze is curious, but mostly contemptuous at the waste of time invested in these ornamentations. After he has made a circuit of the room, he asks, You know the prophecy?

Which one? I ask, but my mind has already flashed to my own prophecy. The one I received from an oracle when I was young enough and foolish enough to seek that kind of advice. I had gone hoping for an insight into my future with Polymele, but the oracle’s words left me fearing the girl I loved. Ares turns, looking at me as if he can’t believe I haven’t made the connection. Only through years of learning how to hide anything that might reveal my emotions when I want to keep them hidden do I prevent my cheeks from flushing with embarrassment.

The one that states a leader from Illamos Valley will one day rule all of Osteria, he says.

My heart gives a leap. I know of this prophecy that has always made leadership of Illamos Valley something of a sign of prestige and wonder. But Osteria has been divided into twelve poli for so many centuries that the prophecy, made soon after the poli split, has been seen as nothing more than a fable. One that is fun to ponder, but one that few believe will ever come true.

Is this what you have in mind for me? To fulfill some prophecy that has gone long past its due date?

Ares’s eyes gleam. There is something in his mischievous glances, his confident form, his passion that makes him even more attractive than he already is. I wonder how many goddesses, mortals, and nymphs he has longing for him.

Yes, of course. You have proven the most worthy, most cunning, most ruthless commander I have ever come across. I’ve waited ages for someone like you to come along. You will establish your rule here, make the Valleymen as Arean as they can be. Once that is done, we will make the prophecy come true by spreading our reach into the other poli. After that, the prophecy will become self-fulfilling. And once you are leader of all of Osteria, who will you choose as your patron god, as Osteria’s only god?

Ah, so this is the heart of it. A small part of me, the part that was raised to honor all the gods, balks. But the hesitation lasts less than a heartbeat. I know too much of the gods. I know my father, Poseidon, left me a bastard and never once looked back, never once helped me. Only Ares did that after I had been shoved away from my polis, from the brother I’d been raised beside. Ares’s plan would put me above all others. If I succeed, I will rule Osteria. All of Osteria will have the order, the perfection, the discipline of Aryana. And Ares will rule Olympus.

You, my lord.

Ares smiles. It is not a smile of unrestrained joy – I don’t think he’s capable of such silly emotions – but it is a smile of pride, of hope, of certainty. And it warms me that I could be a part of bringing that smile to his lips.

Very good. You must go out and speak to the people. You seem to be good at making up stories mortals believe, so tell them what you will. Soon after, begin the registry.

Yes, my lord.

I don’t tell him that even before I entered Illamos Valley I had already planned to start the registry, the system where every civilian must put on file his name, what polis he is from and what god he worships as patron. Most here will be Illamosians who honor Dionysus, but it is always good to know what foreigners may be lurking around. I have also told my generals that they will not take vanquishers’ privileges. Not yet. These people must be coerced into trusting us. Implement new policy in small doses, and these Illamosians won’t even notice they are being made into Areans. Once we have asserted full control, then the generals may take their pick from the best homes, the best land, and the best women.

You will also send a letter to your nephew informing him of the trouble his polis is in. He will come running to help and you can do away with him however you see fit.

I will be more than glad to see Jason dead. To others he may only be an Illamosian prince with a reputation for slow thought, but I have feared him since Aeson informed me of the birth of his son. The Oracle, the one I sought hoping he would tell me how to win Polymele, told me nothing of her love. Instead, he foretold my death, my murder at the hand of a descendant of the god Hermes.

The day Aeson wrote to me of Jason’s birth, I knew, I felt it deep within that it was he who the Oracle had referred to. Who else could it be? Although a granddaughter of Hermes, Polymele is only a woman, hardly anything for an Arean to fear. No, it must be Jason. Once I am face to face with my nephew, I will strike first and strike fast. My life has dangled in the balance too many times for me not to think I can change my fate by killing him before he can kill me.

I will be glad to.

Good. This is our future starting now, Pelias. You realize that, don’t you? But enough of basking in our victory. You must go speak with your people. Our people.

I think of grabbing the Staff of Dionysus to hold as I address the people, but decide it might seem too presumptive. The sudden influx of Arean vigiles has already stirred up concerns and as soon as I climb the rostrum a crowd gathers; the faces are a mix of fear and anger. The next few moments are a critical time that will spell either revolt or complacency. I must lull them in and make them want to accept me as leader while pretending it is a burden I do not desire. It is up to my skills of deception to make them fall under Arean rule without them ever noticing the change until it is too late. My vigiles step in to form a square around my audience. These are my swiftest and smartest men who know how to maintain calm in a crowd and how to take down troublemakers without causing a scene.

Hail Pelias, the Areans call in deep unison as I stand at attention in the center of the rostrum. The crowd murmurs its way into silence. Although I want them to see me as a leader who will treat them well if they follow my command, I cannot blame them for their fear. Arean vigiles are renowned for our aggression, our ability to use force, and our lack of compassion toward those who fight against us. Civilians rarely oppose us and those that do regret it for the short remainder of their lives. I hold up a hand in a deprecating gesture and compose myself. I will be sorrowful, I will make it seem that I hate what I am doing.

Today the Osteria Council has deemed it necessary I come to the aid of this polis, I say, my voice oozing humility. Your king has been remiss in his duties and, to preserve the integrity of Illamos Valley, rule must pass to me for the time being. Look to the north to see what happens when a leader fails to lead. Poverty, crime, lives at stake. You may see this as overstepping boundaries but it is why the Osteria Council was created: to oversee the well-being of all of Osteria.

The Osteria Council was created to put power and wealth into the hands of twelve people, someone shouts. I give an almost imperceptible twitch of my finger to the vigile nearest the rebel. A deft pin prick collapses the protestor. To all eyes, it appears as if the vigiles are helping a victim of this early autumn heat wave.

If all of you accept this change, you will see little difference in your lives. I am here as guardian, not overlord.

Where is Aeson? Where is the queen?

The questions are called out with concern, not aggression. Are these Valleymen so easily taken? I should have come long ago.

They’re— I slump my shoulders and hang my head. I look again to the crowd, my face full of mock distress. Sadly, it is why I had to come. I should not tell you this, but you deserve to know the truth that has been hidden from you for too long. Your king is my adopted brother, whom I love dearly. Unfortunately, this sentiment is not a lie; this all would be so much easier if I despised Aeson, resented him. He is very weak, both in mind and body. The queen has been strong these past weeks keeping his madness from everyone, but now she is resting, recovering from the strain. You can see now why my leadership is needed. I do not enjoy my task, nor its reason.

We need Jason. He’s the prince. He should lead, a woman calls out. She too suddenly succumbs to the heat.

It is not so simple. I wish that it were. The illness is hereditary, passed from father to son. He may seem fit, young, the perfect princely image, but he too will suffer the ravages of this disease and we cannot predict when.

The crowd buzzes. Snippets of conversations that reach my ears include mention of strange behavior, the queen’s exhaustion, troubles in Portaceae, and several heads bob in agreement. Many still scowl, but they can be watched. Any sign of dissension and a drop of hydra blood might happen to find itself in their weekly ration of wine.

If all is well, go about your day. Get to know my vigiles, my advisor Priam and his son Paris, who already seems to be catching the eye of the Valley’s young ladies. Now, go and pray to the Twelve for your king’s health.

As I stride back to the palace, Priam bustles beside me, questions bubbling like a broken fountain from his thin lips. Just as we reach the steps to the palace’s entrance, a welcoming cheer that carries my name